


Carol of the Bells

by AlexPrime



Series: Dance Card [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Killing Joke (Comics)
Genre: Batfamily (DCU), Batjokes, Batman: The Killing Joke, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Canon-Typical Violence, Christmas, Dance Card, Domestic Violence, Insanity, Joker (DCU) Being Joker (DCU), Loss of Identity, M/M, Mental Instability, Obsession, One-Sided Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne, One-Sided Joker/Harley, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reader-Interactive, Slow Build, Soulmates, Super Sanity, The Joker talking to an audience, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:07:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26057713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexPrime/pseuds/AlexPrime
Summary: A plot is the most important part of any story, after its main characters. The Joker knows this better than anyone. But what if the main actor doesn’t wish to play by the rules? He’d have been content to sit this little performance out if it weren’t for the fact that this pesky crisis of identity didn’t demand distraction. How fortunate that there is plenty of distracting fun to be had this time of year, and someone very special to play with.
Relationships: Batman/The Joker, Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Series: Dance Card [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1891648
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	Carol of the Bells

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Shameless breaking of the fourth wall and lots of color!   
> To hide the colors, click 'Hide Creator's Style' in the top right.

**_  
  
Ahh _ ** ~ here it came again...

It  came  upon him,  as it  always did,  like  a creeping  knife  in  the  back. A  sneaking,  crawling  kind of  feeling, like acid dribbling into his  ears  and  filling  his  skull  with  blinding  agony.  It  made  the  light hurt,  and  the  air  agonizing to  breathe  in.  It felt like blades  on  his  skin,  already  so  sensitized  from his  dip  in a chemical  cocktail  years  and  years prior.  His body  shook  with  tremors,  and he  gritted  his  teeth throughout  all  of  it. He  wanted  to  scream.  He wanted  to scream until  his  throat  ripped...

It always, of course, came out as _laughter_. In the end, wasn't it really the same thing?

These small moments in between it all. Often fleeting, but they could last as long as a lifetime. Eons of pain and nothingness. The world around him blurry and unfocused and unrealized. Half-formed ideas giving shape to scenes and then just as quickly rethought to something new. It always hurt even worse at the beginning, when everything was trying to become something solid. When everything was being plotted out. Sometimes, he thought he simply couldn't take any more of it. But in these quiet, agonizing, awful little moments, he didn't have a choice but to. A choice. **HAH**. Did he ever really have one to begin with? Do _anyone_?

It hurt. _Heh_ , it  hurt  so  badly  that  he  thought  he'd  die  from  the sensation  of it.  Dr. Ferris  called them _fits_.  A  part of  his  psychosis, the  psychiatrist  had  explained once. Usually brought  about  by stress or  anxiety-  which was _funny_ because he  wasn't  sure  he  was capable  of feeling  that.  Or  perhaps even  a  sign  that  the  medication  was  working.  Ferris thought  they  were  a sign of  things  getting  better-  that it was proof  of some  sort of  progress  in an  impossible  case.  How  naively  optimistic.

It wasn't an optimistic sign, unfortunately for the good doctor. It was a sign of things getting worse. The shaking and fits were always followed by that hollow, ugly pit in his gut, and the feeling of the world shifting all around him and sometimes slipping away entirely. Of everything seeming so painfully _temporary._ Like it wasn't really here at all. Which, _mm_ ~ _it_ _wasn't_. Usually, this didn't bother him! _Hoo_ , he by and large reveled in the hilarity of the whole thing! A **joke** , he'd always called it. A joke that only he seemed to ever really get! And he laughed at it often, just as he was doing now, and that meant nothing.

It always came on him suddenly, this awful feeling. If he could prepare for it, or plan ahead- but it was so difficult to notice a story ending and slipping away until it was gone and the emptiness arrived, filling his head to the brim with that crushing, torturous weight of _knowing_. _Ahh_ ~ You might ask- _what_ was it he knew that hurt so much?! What could knowledge do to someone that made them want to crawl out of their skin, or curl up and die?! No no, you shouldn't ask stupid questions~

You  already  know the  answer,  and  so, unfortunately,  did  he-  **_hee-HEE_ HE-HAHAHA!  
  
  
**

**_Hello_** _!_ Hello and welcome to Arkham Asylum! This poor clown, you may call him **_Uncle J_** _.,_ will be your host and tour guide! Sorry for the lack of hospitality- things are a wee bit cramped upstairs right now. Two days fresh out of safety watch, you see! Vacation is, by its very nature, a bit lazy and hedonistic! A great deal of laying about and little excitement to be had! That's the price one pays for being so busy with work all the time! It makes the downtime seem downright boring! All work and no play and so on and such forth.

Not  that,  of  course,  he  disliked such  things!  It  was  good  to  get  a  bit  of  R&R,  to read  through  his  mail,  and  to  socialize  with  the  medical  population!  Therapy  was  a  blast  and  a  half,  and  even  though  they'd taken art  time  away from him  years ago, he  still  contented  himself  with stolen  pens or  markers to  doodle with.  The  terror  was  potent in  the  air  when he  was  escorted  or wheeled around.  The  eyes  all  fell  on  him  the  moment  he  was  out of  his cell!  All  ** F  ** U N things,  in  his mind! All  distractions,  and  hilarious ones  at  that!

Why,  then,  did  this  ** FEELING HAVE ** ** TO HAPPEN?! **

If he  were at  work, he'd  take  care  of the sensation himself. Deal with it  how  he  often did.  Blow  something  up  or crash his  car  through  the  glass  doors  of  city hall  while  honking  a  bike  horn. Something-  _ anything-  _ to  cause some  sort  of  scene. Not  for  a  need of  attention,  but a  desperate attempt to  keep  it  all going  and  relevant.  If he  could,  he'd  allow  himself to  get  arrested  or beaten  up; that had  led  to his current  spell  of  incarceration.  Or  maybe  he'd  claw  at himself until someone took  notice,  just  so  the scenes could  continue  on  for  that  little bit  longer.  But  no-can-do here  in ol'  Ark of  Ham!  They  took  issue  when he  ripped at himself- _eventually_ ,  at  least. Depending on the  current shift,  they  sometimes  allowed  it  for  a little while. Petty revenge; they  got it  where they  could!

It felt like white noise in his head! Screaming and deafening and tearing his brain from the inside out. That _knowing_ was a pesky thing! Often times, he envied the others for their ignorance. How lucky they all were, wandering around with their useless little veneer of lives. Only there when focused on, and not existing at all when they weren't. He liked the idea of that sometimes, of only having snapshots or small moments in the background. Someone in the dark distance, half-drawn and fuzzy, driving a car or running in terror or something, while everyone focused on the main event at the forefront.

But he'd never been an _upstage_ left or _upstage_ right kind of jester!! Always the center for him, right in the gleaming spotlight whether he liked it or not! As a rule he did, especially when he shared the stage with his **_co-lead_**! Right now, the lights on him burned, the eyes were sharp knives into his skin, and the sound of the audience was agony!

This  was,  **T he Joker ** thought,  simply a _moment_.

 _You've_ had them as well, right? Those pesky little times where all the world felt out of sorts, and nothing seemed to fit in the right slots! Tsk~ except everything _was_ out of sorts!  Half-formed thoughts and plans and plots. What kind of story would this be? Who were the characters? What would be required of him to perform his role? What traits would he have to find to fit the bill? The world around him spun and the cell around him seemed so intangible that he thought he could simply _reach_ out and touch you!

 _Heh_ ~ no worries! Wouldn't want to be accused of being handsy! Besides, he wasn't that kind of villain! You're still safe and sound, right behind your pretty little wall, just where you should be!  
  
  


**T he Joker** rolled  and  flopped  onto  his  back,  kicking his legs  up into the  padding  of  his  own  wall. His  bare  feet  traced  patterns  in  the  worn  and  stained  fabric-  or it  was  newer  fabric.  Right,  the  reform!  He'd  wondered  if  that would  hold  out, and  it appeared  that it  had. How  nice,  he  could  work with  that!  Things shifted when he  felt like this; everything blurred  together in  a  dizzying  display  of  mayhem!  He  tried  the  scenes  on like clothing, keeping  what  he  liked  and discarding  the  rest.  The  way  his  cell  looked,  the  words  he'd drawn  onto  them  days  before-  no,  he  wanted them  bare right  now-  no,  nevermind,  he needed some  sort  of stimulation-  bring the  drawings back, please  and thank  you!

Some other version of himself- which he supposed was simply still just _him_ , had done a fantastic little drawing of _their_ Bat on the ceiling above his bed. Looking down on him in that broody, furious kind of way that never failed to get his own pulse racing. A lovely doodle- he couldn't remember doing it and his hands didn't seem to be the right pair to replicate it on the opposite walls. The other drawings he searched for weren't quite the right fit either. Oh well~ sometimes things didn't mesh up right at first. Really, this was something of a pilot, right? Testing the waters to gauge audience response?

Confused, are you? _OH! Uncle J_ , you think in bewilderment, _what in goodness gracious are you rambling about?! You must have lost your mind!_ Shush~~ go along with it all, sweeties! Learn to embrace it! It's so much easier that way! Is your brain hurting too? So sorry about that but try **LIVING** with it! **HA**! You'd go mad too! Besides, you always have an out from the chaos! Just click back and ta-da!!! No more fit of crazies!

He'd been in Arkham now for five months. A long stretch of time, one would think, but barely a blip to him. He'd told his Bat, concussed and bleeding from the mouth, that they had all the time in the world, and that he'd see him soon! Hugs and kisses! <3 And he'd meant it! They did. Five months, five years- HELL!- _five_ decades, and when he got out, it'd still be as only long as anyone wished it to be! Try explaining that to the _Dork_ Knight, though, with his willful ignorance. Like talking to a rock, albeit a lovely one with a pretty snarl and fists that could shatter bone!

It was good to  get away for  a  bit  though.  Hang  up his hat, get  some  rest,  and go  through his  mail.  He'd  unfortunately  missed out  on  some  good  sales  coupons- _boo!_ \- but  the ' **Celebrate** Mother's  Day with an  XL  Specialty Pizza for the  price  of a  Large!' coupon  was valid  until January  31st!  They'd not let  him  keep it  in  his  cell, so he'd have to remember  to grab it  on  the way  out  next  time,  along with  the  shirt that  Batsy had  bled  all  over,  because  it  gave him the  warm fuzzies~!

"Hey."

 **T he Joker** rolled his head back so that it was hanging off the bed. The upside-down Officer Jake Reese stood at the smudged glass of his cell, along with Charles Mitchell and '_____' Norman- whose first name was so _repulsive_ that **T he Joker** refused to even think of it, or allow it to be acknowledged at all.

 **" _Mmm~?_ Something you need boys?"** He asked in a sing-song, a smile pulling at his lips. The sensation of it felt like poison. His voice grated on his own ears, and theirs sounded like screeching. Couldn't someone fix this, even a little bit? Cool it with the plotting and just figure out what you wanted to do with this scene!

"Dr. Arkham's waiting. You know the routine."

Ooh!  Dr. Arkham? Aheh~~ wasn't  it  Dr.  Ferris right  now?  Or  had dear  ol'  Jerry not  gone  nutso and  joined  the  bad  guys  yet? So  many  timelines and  so little brain space  to  file  them all!  Well  shoot, he'd  have preferred  the lovely Dr.  Leland  instead,  if Ferris wasn't on the  roster right now! Things  were  always  so  out  of  his control in  the  beginning.  He  was often able to  go  with  the  flow of  it  until  he could  establish  a bit  of  the  narrative; enough  to  make  a  few  changes,  at  least. It  was  a  tad  bit exciting,  even through  the  pain  of it.  A  clean  slate  to  work with!

Huffing a  bit-  this _was_ an  unexpected and  unwelcome  change with  the  mood  he was  in-  **T he Joker** stood and moved  to the  back of  the  cell. Leaning  his  forehead  against  the  sharpie drawing  of  Ace Chemicals (Ooh-hoo!  So  they  decided  to  add  the drawings  after all!  How **FUN**!!!!),  he crossed  his  arms  on  the  back  of his  head  and  waited, humming  and  bouncing  in  place  idly.  Always  the  same  routine...

"You're in a good mood today." Norman murmured, taking his arms, and binding them tightly behind his back. He was gentle enough- this shift was always a pretty solid one, although he'd been on relatively good behavior long enough to have lowered their guard just that teensy-weensy bit. They were a cautious lot but had enough brains in their noggins to know that abusing the deranged killer clown wasn't the best way to ensure survival during an inevitable breakout.

 **"I'm not, actually! In a terrible state, to my dismay!"** **T** **h e Joker** choked on a giggle- he wanted to scream until his voice shattered like glass- **"But alas, I shouldn't spill it all before I get to therapy, or I won't have anything else to talk about!"**

"Sorry you're having a bad day."

**_Maybe I've been there too. Maybe I can help...  
  
  
_ **

**"No- heh~ no, I wouldn't call it a _bad_ day by any means! Trust me, gentlemen, you don't know what a truly bad day is!"** His brain hurt. He wanted to grip it by its squishy little stem and tear it bit by bit out until everything felt so less _awful_. He wanted to rip the color out of the room until everything was blank again and he could just cease to be for a while longer. Why are you writing this story? And why are you _reading_ it?! Stop, you're just making it all so much worse.

  
  


"Hope you have a good talk then, I guess. Maybe sort some things out." Jake- whose first name was strangely actually Jake, and not Jacob- began to guide him out of the cell, only stopping to allow **T he Joker** to slip on his soft shoes so that he wasn't barefoot in the hallways.

White halls. White  ceiling. White  floors.  It  was  like dying- or what  idiots  always  said  dying  looked like.  Long  tunnels of  bright  white light.  Their  version of heaven, he  supposed,  although  he  highly  doubted  their  little  heaven  had  piss  stains  all  over  the  place. No  matter how  many times  the  janitors mopped  and  repainted,  the rot  and  vile stains seemed  to  seep right  back on  through. Even  the  reform  hadn't  been  able  to help it  much  without dismantling  the  building. He wished  they  would  stop trying  and  just embrace the  decay.  It  wasn't  a bad  look, in  his  humble  opinion,  and it  fit  the  place so much  better  than their attempts  at  sterile  did.

Of his colleagues he passed, only a few glanced up. Jonathan was on his bed, face buried deeply into a book and oblivious to much of anything else. His casted leg was propped on one of the pillows, and he looked as apathetic and bored as ever. Edward looked up only briefly, face pulling into a scowl. Their last encounter had been the one to send them both to Solitary- _sorry,_ Safety Watch. **T he Joker**'s fault, of course, and he owned up to the fact! Dru's cell was empty- he was back up in low-level security, ready to try his hand at parole again. How many times was that by now? Harvey he winked to cheerily, and got a small frown in return. Jervis waved at him cheerfully, from where he laid on the ground of his cell.

A  number of  cells  full  but  a decent  amount of  them  empty  as  well!  Dear-oh-dear,  Batsy would be  having his hands  full! The  poor  fool always did  burn  the candle  at  both  ends,  trying to  fill  Arkham  to  the  brim. Too  many  rooms empty for his  brooding discomfort!  Victor,  the _Weed_ ,  Harley, Basil, Arnold,  Kirk, Waylon...  Heh~  _ yikes! _

** "Excuse me, Norman, where exactly _is_ Dr. Ferris? Is he out sick?" **

"Who's that?"

Tsk~ how he loathed these moments, when everything seemed so terribly off! Or rather, when he was _off_ about things being off! Normally, it was a harmless bit of silly entertainment! Watching everything settle down, and all the loose plot ideas to stitch themselves up neatly. He normally enjoyed the blur of chaos and contradiction around him. Right now, it grated on him something terrible. Made his skin all itchy. The last story had ended abruptly, just as it was getting good, and he hadn't quite forgiven a new one starting.

** "Never mind, dear, never mind. Forget I said a thing!" **

Glancing  back  at Edward's  empty  cell-  _ oooh,  _ that  lucky  goose!  Why  did that  smug moron  get to  be out?!  Of  all  the people  to decide  to be  out!-

  
  
**T** **h e Joker** allowed himself to be lead down the halls. Harvey scowled after him; apparently the fight had been with Dent and not with the abscent Riddler. Most of them the halls were empty, with only staff personnel moving about. They always cleared the way for him. They said it was to provide less 'temptation', and he'd always struggled to really understand what that meant. Temptation to dismember? Temptation to tell knock-knock jokes? Temptation to provide a friendly smile and some sound life advice? Temptation to _kill_? Any and all of those could be a temptation, people around or otherwise. He carried his audience with him, after all.  


The elevator rattled violently, and he kept himself busy by imagining it plummeting into the lower levels- but of course, it didn't _go_ to the lower levels. It stopped at the last floor and ignored the _last_ last floors beneath it. Would they survive such a fall, he wondered? Hard to say, but fun to imagine! The gentlemen beside him would be in a mighty panic, but not him! No, **T he Joker** had always loved falling...

"You good?" Charles asked, adjusting his grip on his arm to slow his fidgeting down a bit. **T he Joker** hadn't realized that he had been shaking violently, teeth chattering over the sound of the decaying elevator.

** "Good as good can be, don't you fret Charlie! It's just freedom jitters! Not much space to move about in Safety Watch! It was quite cramped, and although I'm all for self love, I'm so tired of giving myself a fabric-enforced hug!" **

Charles eyed him, and leaned over to murmur something to Jacob, and **T he Joker** politely pretended not to hear them talk about him. Rude, but he'd forgive the lads. They always got a bit antsy when he was in a _mood_.

Norman led the march as the elevators _dinged_ open. For a moment, he'd thought it be great fun if they had been locked up inside the thing, trapped together. He supposed it might be something like their worst nightmare, but it could have proven to be a great distraction!

The doors- both of them- were already open when they arrived, just waiting for the next session to start. Perhaps they thought it was inviting, like welcoming someone into a _safe_ space. They did their best here, after the reform, to make things as comfortable as possible. Even for _him_ , which was funny in and of itself. He hadn't ever cared much about comfort- either having it or being deprived of it. The air in there hurt just as much as the air out here did.

"Here's your Eleven o' Clock." Norman said he politely pushed **T he Joker** forward into the clear room, and shut the door behind him.

 **T he Joker** side-eyed  Dr.  Dominick  Ferris  as  he  took  his position,  with his back to  clear  glass  and  his  hands  just close enough  to  the  slot  in  the  door  to  have  his  restraints removed  without  the  possibility of staff  being  maimed.  They  didn't  dare put  such  a thing  on his  own  cell  anymore;  even  that much  of  a  gap was  a  weapon  in  his hands,  if left  alone too long with  it.  Ask  him  how  they'd  found  that out! But  he  usually cooperated here,  allowing  them to  take  the  bindings  off  so that he  could have  free  reign  of  the space. More  fun  that  way.

They liked to give him the  illusion  of  control. It was part  of  the  reforms.

"Thank you, Bruce. I'll buzz when we're done." **T** **h e Joker** twitched at the name. Dr. Ferris smiled his wide, warm smile as the door shut and the session began. Uhg, always the same with the man. Trying to be friendly and kind as a way to _draw_ out the light things hiding beneath the dark things inside of him! Didn't the man understand that there was nothing _but_ dark things in there? "So, finally off safety watch, that must be nice. How do you feel that went?"

 **T he Joker** paced  the small,  clear  room.  The reform  had emphasized  dignity for  the inmates,  and strapping  them into  a chair  anymore  wasn't  a _done_ thing. Instead,  therapist  and  patient  were separated by  a clear  wall,  much  like the  glass  of  his own  cell,  with  a  great  deal  of  holes  to  allow  for  easy  conversation.  A more _therapeutic_ environment,  they  called it. A  well-padded  couch-  _ bolted  _ to  the  padded  floor. A small soft  chair-  _ also  _ bolted  down.  A  pad  of soft paper  and some crayons- _stupid_ of them to  let  him have  even  that  much.  The  _ things  _ he  could  do with that Sea  Green stick of wax and  a  bit  of  time.  But  Ferris was  a firm  believer  in  art  therapy- he'd never  fully  approved  of  art time being taken away,  although understanding  of why it had  been  necessary.

 **"Oh, you know~! Busy as always. I had a great deal to catch up on, and so much to talk about! Never a dull moment for me, I'm afraid! Always in the spotlight, even when I'm in the dark!"** He waved his hands as he moved, lithe and delicate about the space and claiming ownership of each and every item in it. He entertained the idea of drawing, but all of his artwork was studied and examined and picked apart like it was the _Mona_ Lisa. Sometimes, he enjoyed taunting the psychiatric community by drawing something mundane- like a butterfly- and then watch them analyze it to the death. Other times, he drew his favorite subject, knowing that certain _specific_ someone would be fixating on it.

 _"This is clearly a sign of his deep-seated need to break free from his 'cocoon', so-to-speak! A clear window to his trapped mind!"_ The  doctors  and  scientists  would  claim.  It  was  all  a bunch of hooey.  There was  no  window available  to  his mind.  Just  a  steep,  sharp  drop into the  black.

"A lot to talk about? Is your audience still around then?" These sessions were recorded, but Ferris still took a great deal of notes on his tablet. "You haven't mentioned them in a while."

 ** "Haven't had much reason to! They're usually very polite and hush-hush! Lately, though, they've been loud. Terribly rude, actually, to talk during a performance! But that's neither here nor there! They will do as they do, and you can't choose your crowd! You just have to learn to play to them as best you can! Such is the nature of acting."  The Joker** gave  a wink, settling  down on  the couch  and sprawling  back  on  it like  a particularly  lazy  cat.  ** "No, safety watch was _safe_ , and I'm no more glad to be out than I was to be in!" **

Another  note  written on  the tablet.

"Are you feeling alright? You're shaking."

 ** _WHY_** did everyone need to point that out!? A clown couldn't shake for five minutes without some ignorant fool commenting on it! So he was shaking! Many people often did! People had seizures, or had too much caffeine, or had some sort of nervous disorder! Don't _YOU_ dare comment on it either! He could see you thinking it!

** "Just fine, doc!" **

"Are you having one of your bad days, then?"

 **" _No_. Not a _bad_ day _._ I've only ever had one, and none since. Completely cured of bad days!" **They didn't know what that even _was_. Not a single, solitary little one of them had any idea of what a bad day actually _was_. Dear Ferris didn't even have _days,_ let alone bad ones! He only had scenes; brief, stupid, useless **SCENES**. He was so replaceable that he'd been switched out twice in this chapter alone already!

There were only really two performers that got _days_ here, if one could even call them that. More like chapters. Books? Stories? They lasted lifetimes or seconds, depending on who flipped through, who read, who watched. And they could be drug out of the blue, over and over again-

And here  it came  crashing back to  him.  That _feeling._ Like knives  into  his  skin,  digging  and  digging and  picking at  him until  he  was  raw  and  bloody  from  it. It  skinned  his  mind  open,  flaying  each and  every  bit of dark  out into  the open.

For  a  moment, he could see it.  A  blank white  screen,  and  a series  of  words.  Eyes  scanning  over them,  analyzing  it all.  The  room around him  didn't change,  but  he saw through  it for what  it  was.  Just  one scene  in  a  long  series of scenes. He  hoped  they  were going  to  be interesting  enough  to keep him distracted,  because the shifting  was  dizzying.

** Breathe- **

But  he didn't even _breathe_ here,  did  he?  No one did.  Gasp,  cry,  frown, snarl,  laugh-

LAUGH-

All of  it  was  words!  Words on  a  screen. Heh~

 **_ Can  _ ** someone  plEA **SE, PLEASE AND THANK YOU, CHANGE THE CHANNEL??????  
  
  
  
  
**

"-ave any goals to work on?"

 **T he Joker**, who was on his feet now with a half-colored pad of paper in his hand and clearly in the act of pacing, glanced over. The clock told him time had passed- a little over forty minutes, in fact. The paper was nothing but scribbles, and some half-formed words and sentences. He didn't remember doing them, but scenes could skip like that. Line breaks, new chapters. He was used to filling in the blanks and using context clues to base his next actions off of. A gun in his hand, driving a car, fighting... he considered himself more than a little adaptable.

He  glance  over at  his  writing, but  the  clues  didn't  connect.  Hmm, that  happened too sometimes. He  supposed  he'd have  to  play  it  by ear this  time.

_ SHAKY SHAKY EGGS AND B _

_ STATIC _

_ TRY MAKING SENSE OF THIS YOU IDIOTS _

_ B + J = BYE BYE GOTHAM _

_ X O X _  
_ X X O _  
_ O X O I LOST TO MYSELF HA HAHA _

_ I STOLE THE SEA GREEN _

** "Pardon?" The Joker ** smiled  widely,  feeling  the  wax  of  the  crayon dig into  his  foot inside of  his  shoe.  He  didn't remember  taking  it,  let alone smuggling  it. **"My apologies, I'm afraid I wasn't listening."**

"I asked if you have any goals to work on for the New Year? Any resolutions, or objectives you'd like to set? It could be anything, even something small. I'd encourage you to try to set some positive goals. Some see the new year as a fresh start, and I think you could do with one of those. Save for a few incidents, you've shown a lot of restraint over the past five months." Dr. Ferris leaned back in his chair, and **T** **h e Joker** even didn't think his smile was fake. He was one of those _Do-Gooder_ therapists; one of the ones to have come from the reform by **_Wayne_** Enterprise. One of the ones who actually thought they could help him. He'd have felt sorry for the man, if he was really capable of feeling sorry for anyone or anything anymore

 **T he Joker** smiled a queer smile, eyes narrowing. He tucked his hands neatly at his back, prim and proper as anything. **"New Year's Eve is soon, then? I hadn't realized."**

"Yes, in about twenty-nine days. Plenty of time to plan some positive-"

** "Yes yes, _goals_ , I know. I suppose my goal is, _mmm~_ trying to figure out who I am. You know, some heavy soul seeking- all that internal, deep exploration. I don't feel like much of anyone right now, I'm afraid." **

Christmas was soon. He hadn't noticed the calendar shift? Hadn't it just been September? No, but Crane was here, so that meant Halloween had already happened. There was something about the end of the year that always put him in a _mood_. Whether that was good or bad, he wasn't entirely certain. Perhaps it was the way that Gotham lied around the holidays, pretending it was something so much different than what it truly was. It was as amusing as it was pathetic. The snow covering the decaying, rotting streets, transforming the mold into a dazzling winter wonderland. It felt a bit tacky. Everyone was so pleased at the coming of winter, so they could cheerfully hide all the corruption under layers of puffy snow.

Despite his own feelings about winter, he positively _loved_ Christmas. The colors, the materialism, the songs, the movies, the lights! And he loved it even more as he knew so well that Batman _loathed_ it, the Grinch that he was! Waving it about his scowling, brooding face had been an excellent past time.

He could do something this year. Celebrate it in his own personal style, as he often did. Even now, ideas were blossoming into his head, one after the other. Some possible, others not. All these different traits he could have were warring for center stage. He could be bloodthirsty. He could be innocent. He could be sweet, or terrible, or as cruel as they come. And yet, he wasn't certain what kind of story this was to be. Nothing had been _solidified_ yet. Just a few scattered scenes and half-formed plots. Nothing that he could work with thus far.

"That is an excellent idea. Knowing who you are, your flaws and strengths. It gives you something to build off of. You've said before that you don't remember who you were before the accident. Maybe you can take this time to learn who you are now, and who you want to be."

There was some amount of injustice in the fact that he was often given so little to work with. They placed him into a scene and expected him to simply take charge of it. Normally, this was fine- he was good at improvisation. But sometimes, like now, he was blank. A rolodex of traits and none of them felt _fitting_. Like clothes that were too loose or too tight. Bunching up in the wrong areas and clearly not belonging on him at all. Everyone else was given a set personality, so why wasn't he? It was more than a little unfair. It was always expected that he create his own character from the ground up, for every single story. Too many to count, and they all played through him at the same time.

Who should  he  be this  time?  And  more than  that,  perhaps  Ferris  was  right;  who  did  he _want_ to be?

** " _Mmm-hmm,_ yes. Endless possibilities. I'm afraid that's quite the problem! I feel very lost without a plot to work with..." **

"We'll discuss this more in our next session; for now I want you to think of the person you'd like to become. I'm afraid our time's up for today."

"Position up." Norman was back, along with Jake and Elias- where had Charles gone? Was he even here anymore or he had been some _other_ clown's guard? Bye-bye Charlie! **T** **h e Joker** obediently allowed them to slip on the restraints and lead him from the room.

Who  did  he want  to be? What  kind of story  was  he in?  All  so  bloomin' blank.

 _ Look  _ at the tiles.

_ Look at the lights. _

_ Look at the floor. _

_ Look at the ceiling. _

_ Look at the air. _

**_ Look. Look. Look.  
  
  
_ **

So  many  things-  all  crowding  around  his  senses like confetti.  Sometimes,  **T he Joker** thought it was positively  painful  to **LOOK**.  To  look at it  all  and  see  beyond  it.  See  past  what  wasn't  there  to what  was  there,  but  so far out  of  reach.  A  knowledge that was like  a  missing word on  the  tip  of  his  tongue.  Here  one  moment and  gone the  next. Therapy hadn't made anything  better, it  only  made  it so, so  much worse! It  left him  with  questions  that had answers but  they  weren't  written  yet.  Impossible  for  him  to  come up with.

It would hit him harder later- this was only the tip of how agonizing it could truly get. He'd be in the infirmary later, for ripping himself up. External stimuli helped to a point. In any case, it didn't make it _worse_. It helped him feel less like he was drifting away. Mmm, should he warn the guards? Elias was gone again, and Charles was back. That was nice. He was always a good sport about these things and took the warnings seriously. Or maybe he could demand to see Dr. Ferris again- just for a brief chat! He could tell him that sometimes it was easier to ignore this awful knowledge more than other times. That sometimes he woke up- did he even sleep? _Could_ he even sleep? \- and felt it all fall on him at once. **Heh** ~ like a weight crushing into his head. Squishy-squashing his brain into mush...

And  no  one  could  see  it. **HAHA**!  No one  else could see  that  the  world was  blank.

But talking wasn't useful because no one really _heard_ him. Crazy, they called him. Oh yes, yes indeed. How could he **_not_** be? When everything was so very _fake_ and one couldn't even trust their surroundings not to shift about left and right and upside down. Different faces, different characters, different styles- all of it blending into one mess. Was he the Clown with the longer hair? Or the one with the tattoo? Or was he the one that died? Went sane? Cut his face off? Was he the clown who was all murder and chaos, or did he have class and manners? Was he cartoon or live action?

Which  version did  he  want to  be  today, and  why-oh-why did  he  not  ever  seem  to  get  his  choice  in it?

** No . **

**_Absolutely_ _no_.  
**

If they weren't going to give him anything to play with, then he wasn't going to play at all! He could do that sometimes, if he tried. Just cut it all short and refuse to participate in the performance. Someone else could take the spotlight for a while, and he'd just drift around in nothing for as long as needed until they could come up with something _DECENT_. He was so very sick of holding up the plot and coming up with everything needed to make it all work out!

The  guards were  shifting  around  now;  edgy. One could  even  call  them _SHAKY_ ( ** _SEE,_** NOT  SO NICE  IS  IT?!)  Their  eyes  were  glancing about  even  though they  kept a  close watch  on  him.  For  a  few  moments,  he  wasn't  entirely  sure why.  Had _he_ done something  and  simply hadn't noticed?  Possible, of  course-  but  everything  about  him unsettled  those around him.  From  his  height, to his build,  to his face,  to his  scent-  all of  it was  something terrifying to  them.  But  not  in this instance,  though. No,  they were skittish  for  another  reason. They  knew  something that  he  didn't.

And _then_ he heard it. Faintly in the distance; even through the screaming static in his head, he could make out the words. That one, single little word that he would hear no matter what. Even deaf, or in a coma- **_HAHAH!-_ **or asleep, or dead, and he'd still snap to that word in a heartbeat.  


Even  now,  his  heart  began  to  pound  loud enough  to be  deafening  in his  ear  and drowning out the static.  Real for  the  first  time since  this  story  began.  He _felt_ it,  all  of  him focusing and  intent.  A  purpose. _Oh_ how nice  it  was to finally  have  one!

The guard station was up ahead, the one by the elevators. The voice on the television was tinny- he thought it was likely Marco Dixon, reporter for the GCNN. He usually hosted at this time, in the late morning. **T** **h e Joker** wasn't allowed to watch the news- _not ever_\- but he'd pointed a gun once at dear Marco before, and he'd recognize that voice anywhere.

 **T he Joker** coughed once, slowing down a bit so that he could linger just bit longer in the hallway, as much as the guards would allow him to. They hadn't noticed the news yet and when they did, they'd be quick to hurry him along.

_"-Batman-"_

**T he Joker** dug his feet in and **stopped.  
  
  
**

"Somethin' wrong?" The guards knew already, then. There was that edge of nervousness in their voice and posture. They were oblivious to the news, so that meant they knew from another source. And _that_ thought made him all tingly because of what that _meant_.

_"-apprehended criminal Victor Fries, also known as Mr. Freeze, after an explosion at the Verger Meat Packing plant. Batman is currently set to transfer this dangerous fugitive to the custody of Arkham Asylum-"_

Jake turned at him and already his free hand was creeping towards his baton. The guards tried to shuffle him forward, but **T** **h e Joker** resisted, planting himself where he stood and tugging back sharply. A small smile curved at his lips and he felt something in him _ignite_. A little spark that was starting to catch on all this terrible, awful, bad feeling. It was low and soft, little more than an ember now, but he felt it start to take hold of him and _burn_. He felt dizzy in a _different_ way.

 ** "Hmm~... _No_."  ** He  hummed  idly,  and  he realized  he  wasn't  quite  shaking  anymore.  No, no  he  was  vibrating. Every nerve  in  him  felt like  a  livewire,  thrumming  through  his  veins.  ** "No. In fact, everything is quite _alright_ now." **

"Don't pull this crap- keep walking." Charlie shoved at him and forced him to take a few steps. With his bindings, his center of balance was skewed. But even so, he only moved so far, before he doubled-down harder and twisted away. The man was quick to grab at him, giving him a warning tap in the arm with the baton. "Seriously, I mean it. You've been doing good lately. Don't do this."

" _Hey_! Turn that shit off!" Norman had heard it too now. The broadcast. Of course, they _all_ knew already that Batman was on his way to Arkham- they'd likely been prepped just before snatching him up from therapy, but now they knew that _he_ knew. It'd been a long time- **_months_** \- since Batman had personally escorted someone in. He often allowed them to be transferred by **_Gotham's_** Finest Hogs, but Fries was a different animal. A specialized vehicle was required to haul him anywhere, and Batsy-darling had one that he kept on hand for situations just like this. "Walk now, or we're going-"

 **T he Joker** pondered, as the guards shoved and jostled him towards the elevators as fast as they could make him go, how he wanted to play this out. He could, if he so wished, lash out with everything in him. To maim and mutilate so that when Batman arrived, he found **T** **h e Joker** sitting in a pool of blood waiting for him. Would drawing a heart in the gore be _too_ much? His Bat was such a skittish thing when it came to visible displays of _feelings_. He always shut down and dove deep into his denial. That toxic masculinity at play!

"Get him the fuck outta here." Jake was taking point on this one; a radio was in his hand. Had they called for backup yet? He hadn't been paying attention to them. Unimportant that they were- just characters in this little scene. He was up front and center! The prime actor! No lines to read, no script to follow, but he had a co-lead this time! That was enough for him to find some inspiration~ He'd need it all today, for his **_Bat_** was visiting.

**_ Curtain up!  
_ **

**T he Joker** wasn't staying still- not anymore. No, he was moving now, twisting with a sickeningly loud crack of his spine, bending and ducking and weaving away from the guards about him.He'd heard Batman tell one of his rabid child soldiers that he was like lightning. Striking in a flash and then gone in the very next instant. **T he Joker** thought on the comparison with a warm thud in his heart, but Bats was a _wee_ bit mistaken. He never fought- not like lightening or anything else!

He  _ danced! _

"Fuck! Someone-"

Someone reached out- Norman, with his large hands and gripped tight to the restraints binding **T he Joker**'s arms together. They were trying to prevent him from escaping, to keep him close, but _escape_ hadn't ever been the intent here. No, why would he possibly ever _leave_ , when he had an upcoming date? When the only thing that could have ever possibly mattered was on his way here?

He kicked out hard, nearly bending double backwards in order to lash his feet against the middle-aged Jake, who grunted. A baton smashed against his leg for it- _not_ broken, keep going- and **T he Joker** laughed wildly through the pain. It twirled him into a crouch. So _silly_ of them to allow him to walk on his own power at all! Even with the bindings at his feet, he had more than enough room to fight with.

And restraints  had  always  been a deadly  weapon  in  his hands.  They'd  have  fared much better  had  he simply been  _ free. _

**_"Sorry,_ gentleman!"** **T he Joker** grinned  wildly  as  Norman  grabbed  him  around the  middle-  he  slammed his  head  back into  the  man's and  felt  it  crunch  beneath his skull. **"I know we've built up something of a _rapport_ and believe you me-hee-hee! I DO value it! But something's come up- I _apologize_ for being so terribly rude!"**

His  legs hooked over  Charlie's shoulders,  binding slipping over  his  head  and locking  them  together.  If he  used his legs  just-so,  he'd  be able  to  snap  the man's  neck. Tempting-  SO  TEMPTING-  but  this wasn't what  he  was  aiming for.  Just  some light maiming  for now. The man  beneath  him  was  choking. Fingernails  were scrambling against  the  cuffs  to  release the  pressure,  to  breathe-

**_CRACK_.  
**

The  baton  hit  him  across the  back  of  the  skull-  he  saw  stars  and his  vision blacked out. Arms  wrestled  him  down  into  the  dingy floor  tiles,  his face  smushing  into  the  scent  of  decay  and  black mold.  Aheh- heheh-HE  ** HE  ** HA  AHA  HA!  
  


"Shut the _fuck_ up, freak!" Oooh~ they only ever brought that out when he really ticked them off! Heh~ oopsies!

 **"Th't srrt uh lungug isn' prt uh th' ruhfrm."** **T he Joker** giggled wetly into the ground. He was cuffed tighter; backup was arriving now and with it they brought the whole kit! Wee! Another fabric hug for him! Being lifted and slammed into the gurney, he gave a wink at Charlie. **"I'll tattle on you! That hostility has _no_ place in a therapeutic work environment! We're trying to move away from that sort of negativity here."  
  
**They were  strapping him  in  for  the  ride up  to the  infirmary.  The Medical  Ward  always  smelled  like  antiseptic  and  chemicals, and  he  always  felt  so  terribly at  home  there. A  bleached  husk amongst the bleached  sheets.  They'd  be  hauling him  there,  where  he'd  be  strapped  to  a bed until  they  were satisfied  that  he'd not  die  in  their  care.  He  was  high-profile  enough that  it'd  raise  all sorts of hell,  even  if no one  would have necessarily  mourned.

Well,  not  _ no  _ one.

 **T he Joker** 's  vision spun  wildly  as  they  wheeled him.  It  was a  blur  of  color  and  he  felt all  dizzy  all  over  again.  Head  injuries  were  always a  gas- all  the perks  of  being  drugged up  without any  of  the  pesky  toxins!  A concussion  most certainly,  if not an outright  fracture;  he felt  like  was  going  to throw  up!  Had  he been  hit in  the  tummy?  He couldn't  recall, but  it  was  fully  possible!  Regardless,  the  bile  was  on  its way  up  and he  didn't  see  much  reason  to  try to  fight  puking.  And  so  he did,  gagging  and  heaving  all  over himself, the gurney, and  the floor of the  elevator.  The  guards  and orderlies  jumped  back cursing.  Some  got  it  on  themselves-  they'd get a  rash from  it,  he  knew.  His  body was  toxic  and  acidic,  already  he  could see  Ms.  Baker's sensitive little hand,  dripping  with  stomach  acid,  grow a very faint pink.  Like brushing  against  stinging  nettles...  
  
  


He closed his eyes for the ride- the room was spinning far too much to make sense of it anyways. Instead, he focused on the feeling in him. That _knowing_ that often felt like such an agonizing burden. Maybe it still was, but it felt less distracting. Just some background noise. The pain in his head grounded him in the here and the now- he was THIS version of himself, not some other clown. He was **T** **h e Joker** strapped to the gurney covered in his own vomit. It was distinct enough that he was able to focus- just for a moment.

It was easier to pretend to be a person when he gathered bits of an identity. When he found traits and pieced them together like a badly-stitched quilt. Find some bits to apply just right. Find the smile he wanted to wear, or the way his voice sounded. The feeling of stomach acid was slick and vile against his own face, and he could use that. It didn't disgust him as it did the others. Wasn't even _real_ \- no no. No, back away from _THAT_ sort of thinking, _Uncle_ J! It was supposed to be real. A trait as much as the rest of it was!

Gather it  around  himself  like  clothing. A  closet  of  parts  to  wear,  so  he  could build  the right  clown  for  this!  What _was_ he? A  murderer?  A  psychopath?  A  force of  chaos?  A harmless jester?  What would suit this  situation  best?  Grasp  at it  and  tug  it  on-

It  happened  all at  once. A  quiet  hush and  the  air felt  like  it was sucked  out of the room.

 **T he Joker ** snapped his  eyes open.

They  were approaching  medical;  the  infirmary  unit  was  just down  at the  end  of  the hallway.  There were  orderlies,  guards, and  police standing  around.  It was  freezing cold in the  hall  and **T he Joker ** could  see  his breath, more  rapid  now than  it had  been.  The  temperature  had  been  drastically lowered  in this  area.  A lot  of  voices, all  murmuring  together,  provided  a steady  level of  noise.  Intake  paperwork was  being handed  around.  Transferring  an  inmate back into  Arkham  custody  wasn't  always  such  a simple  matter.  It  had  so  much red tape  involved.  The  state  had  to  make  certain  that the  Asylum was  ready to  take  custody,  the  social workers  had  to  get  involved,  the  patient's  legal  court-appointed  guardian, the  lawyers, medical  response. He  usually  blurred  out  all that  whenever  he  was  taken  into  custody;  it  was  all  oh-so  boring in his  mind.

Warden Francis  Devries  was attempting to  seem important  as  he  marched through  the  infirmary  doors,  puffing  and blustering.  His moustache  was  twitching  on  his  face like  something furry and  alive. He  looked  angry  and frustrated...  And  no  wonder,  because  following behind him...  
  


**T he Joker** felt his breath catch.

For  a moment,  **Batman** didn't  seem  to  outwardly  notice  him,  but the  stiffening of his  posture- already  so  tense- was  a  telling  sign.  Anyone  else  wouldn't have  seen  it but  **T he Joker** had  made it  his  singular  goal  to  know  this  particular  creature better  than  anyone  else  ever could.  He could  pick  up on  each  and every little  twitch,  and  it  heated  him  to the  core.  Lit  him  up like Christmas.

They  always knew the  presence  of  the other.  Always.   
  
"Incoming!" Ms. Baker, the pretty blond nurse, was ordering in her no-nonsense tone as she push past Warden, guard, and police alike. They shuffled out of her way, giving a wide berth when they realized who it was being transferred. He didn't look at them- _just_ characters- just undrawn faces- and instead, focused on the looming black shadow.  
  
His cape was torn on one side, and he had the telltale sign of frostbite on the exposed skin of his face. The suit was soaking wet- it must have been snowing outside, because he looked drenched from the icy storm, the poor thing. The metallic scent of blood- of _Batman's_ blood- was in the air, and **T** **h e Joker** could see it gleaming on his suit under the florescent lights. The injury that had caused it sadly wasn't visible; he'd have liked to have seen it to make certain it wasn't better than the ones he'd caused. To his great delight, **Batman** was scowling- _always scowling_!- but he was painfully obvious in his efforts to avoid looking at him. In fact, Bats made it so clear that he was trying to ignore him that **T he Joker** knew his every smidgeon of attention was fixated on him. Mutual, of course! Everything in him thrummed and responded in turn with rapid focus. 

** "Well hello! You're out late." ** **T he Joker** crooned  out  warmly  as  he was  wheeled  closer.  His voice  was  softer  than  it  had  been before, and  it  felt less  empty. Emotion  had  replaced  the  hollowness.  He'd  have  loved  to  tell  Batman what  that  emotion  was,  but his  Bat  was such  a  delicate  thing.  ** "Best go home and warm up after a grand night of beating up the mentally ill. You look positively peaky. Can't have you getting sick." **

**Batman** didn't say anything- not a single  word-  but  for  that  split  moment  as  the gurney  was  wheeled  through  the  doors,  they  made eye contact.

It wasn't obvious. It never was to anyone else. The white lenses were made to prevent emotionalism from being seen, but **T he Joker** could tell the split moment that his own acid-green met the storm-blue gaze beneath the white. It felt like a _wildfire_ erupted into his gut, churning, and raging, and burning him to the very core. It was agony,  but one he delighted in, because it thawed out all that awful, stabbing **_STATIC_**. Instead, it replaced it with something very different and very, very welcome. For the first time in days, or at least since this horrible story began, his mind was quiet.

_ Oh. _

**T he Joker** smiled widely, feeling stomach acid slide across his cheek into his hair. The doors closed as he was wheeled to a secure room, nurses and the on-call doctor were swarming around him. The air felt thick and heavy with _purpose_.

**_Oh_.**

So _that_ was what he was then! Not the clown on the gurney, with vomit on his chest. Not **T he Joker** who was having a _moment._ Not **T he Joker** who was _shakey_ \- in fact, he was perfectly, absolutely still. Not a twitch to him. He felt loose and calm and controlled. No more bad feelings to be found in him! So this was what he would be! Not **T** **h e Joker** in Arkham Asylum, languishing in his cell, hollow and gutted and barren of _being_.

No, he'd be **T he Joker** ~ the one whose mind was whirling and spinning and planning. **T he Joker** who had only really just been biding his time anyways. **T he Joker** who had a small taste of something wonderful after feeling so awful and now wanted more of it. The one who finally, _finally_ , had purpose! It was _that_ time of year, wasn't it? A celebration of family and friends! There was only _one_ person he could think of that he wanted to spend any time with.

He felt  more  than  a  little  selfish for his  previous  threats of  refusal  to perform! Goodness,  he  hadn't  realized  that his  **Co-Lead** was  waiting  on  him! _That_ changed  everything, and  now  he  felt  quite  eager  to  join in  the  fun! So  yes, yes  he'd play  this time around.

He  was  **T he Joker** who had  a  **_ holiday to celebrate!  
_ **

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Carol of the Bells, the first installments of 'Dance Card'. This will be a different take on Batman and Joker, particularly the latter. Both will be based on a number of different source material (comics, games, animated series, animated films), but the primary inspiration is The Killing Joke. If you haven't read that, it is highly recommended that you do, for a lot in this series references it. 
> 
> Feedback is always welcome, as are questions or comments!


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